This weekend, I knocked out a cool 8 miles for myself and for #megsmiles. It was a great morning for a long run and I enjoyed every step. I killed a HUGE Back Bay Waffle at the Seabrook Waffle Company. A delicious, yummy pile of waffle, warm apple butter, and crumbled bacon. NOMS. I felt amazing, even having thrown in a pass over my friend, the Kemah Bridge.
Sunday was technically rest day, but Daniel asked if we could jog to the park. What mom in her right mind turns that down?
We jogged to the park, played a while, and then headed home. On the way home, Daniel challenged me to a race. I reclaimed the leash, handed Lia off to daddy, and away we went. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I hadn't stretched. I hadn't warmed up. I hadn't thought two seconds about what I was doing. I gave him a head start, started legging it out, and caught up just before we hit the house. Daniel got really upset when I made my move to pass him, so I backed off and let him pull ahead at the very end (softy, I know). I didn't think anything of it, but as the day wore on, my QLs got tighter and tighter and tighter. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I guess I'm not as young as I once was.
I paid a visit to Dr. Ray at Redding Chiropractic this morning. He worked me out, but how ridiculous did I feel having to explain that it wasn't the 8 miles, my friend the Bridge, or any other triathlon-related thing I did to land me in this state? Nah. I was racing my 6-year-old. Lame. And I didn't even win.
With a few stretching sessions, a quick adjustment, some ART, and a day off, I think I'm going to stay on track with my training. But still. Dumb, dumb, dumb. . .
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